


we’re gonna get you some herbs, leon

by mochacreams



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Related, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Creampie, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Game: Resident Evil 2 Remake (2019), Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Human/Monster Romance, I Want That Twink Obliterated, Large Cock, M/M, Moaning, Monsterfucker Leon S. Kennedy, No Lube, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Raccoon City (Resident Evil), Resolved Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Table Sex, The Author Regrets Everything, sorry you had to read that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28123197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochacreams/pseuds/mochacreams
Summary: Mr. X manages to get into the darkroom during a chase with Leon; only, neither had been intending to kill the other—the tension throughout RPD had been something else entirely.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Mr. X | Tyrant T-00, Leon S. Kennedy/Tyrant
Comments: 15
Kudos: 222





	we’re gonna get you some herbs, leon

**Author's Note:**

> this was a joke gone too far 🪴

The door to the darkroom hadn’t swung closed fast enough, apparently. 

Just before the edge of the wood met the metal doorframe, a thick, muscular arm coated in shiny black wedged between it, keeping it open by just a sliver. 

But it wasn’t entirely his fault. In Leon’s defense, he’d been wounded at his left side, and too concerned with stopping to spray disinfectant and apply bandage wraps to notice. Too absorbed in that to realize that the purposeful footsteps coming from the nearby west office were approaching _him_. That _thing_ had most definitely heard his strained groans and haphazard attempts at first aid. 

Why hadn’t he just bit the bullet and waited until he’d made it to the darkroom to fix up the slashes at his waist? He’d been on his way there, anyway, and it was just a little bit further along, too—he couldn’t handle the pain for just a minute longer? He’d _had_ to do it out in the open, in the narrow, zombie-infested hallway? 

There was no point in lamenting his carelessness at the moment. As Leon had lunged inside of the room, he’d tripped into a fall, and now he was crouched on his shins, the temporary relief dissipating into a panic when he heard the creak of the hinges behind him. 

He wouldn’t dare look, because deep down he knew what he was going to see. To make matters worse, the pistol he’d been brandishing as he had dove had skidded away across the tile, now far out of reach. 

The darkroom went eerily quiet, but just for a few moments (to Leon, though, time seemed to slow so much that he felt dazed).

And then the same familiar footfall thumped behind him, slow and loud. _Heavy_. The moonlight that’d been drifting in from the corridor window was quickly blotted out by the Tyrant’s wide frame. 

Leon was still, kneeling, heaving in a low, erratic rhythm from the sprinting he’d just done—sprinting that would now ultimately be in vain. 

He thought for a moment about reaching for the shotgun on his back, but that would probably just provoke him. 

For now, the monster was...strangely calm? He almost seemed restrained compared to the restless following he did throughout the rest of the RPD. Now Leon was here, his target right in front of him, helpless and probably very easy to off with just a single slam to the ground. 

Yet, despite all that, and despite this scenario being completely illogical, Leon was still alive. 

The Tyrant was looming right over him, but he still wasn’t dead. 

In fact, his footsteps stopped just behind Leon, the door finally clicking shut and drowning out the grating moans of the roaming zombies. It was darker now, with only the dim hanging lamps above providing some streaks of light. 

A heat pooled in his stomach, weighing him down. Anticipation caused another adrenaline rush, but suddenly confusion was thrown into the mix. 

Mr. X was silent as ever, except for the constant, gruff breaths Leon could overhear every couple seconds. 

Something different happened, contrary to his usual behavior—he _crouched_ , too, positioned right behind Leon, the leather of his trench-coat crinkling as he did it. 

And he sidled up a little too close for comfort, placing one massive hand onto Leon’s arm.

The contact alone, so unexpected, made him shiver. The Tyrant’s skin was cold, but it made a warmth sizzle up—the same warmth that been twisting his gut into knots. Except that hotness tingled past his stomach, dripping straight to the tip of his dick and lingering there. 

For the moment, he was paralyzed, with Mr. X’s foreboding aura right beside him and a strange arousal building up inside at this predicament. 

Maybe the Tyrant hadn’t been trying to kill him all this time? He felt delirious at the possibility, but oddly excited. 

More importantly, his pants were starting to feel tight. His boner had grown to fill the fabric at his crotch area, and it was beginning to be uncomfortable. He ought to readjust his belt and waistband—

—The icy hand on his bicep released, only to pat him again. _Slowly. Methodically._ Twice more, like a beckoning. Somehow _comforting_ , in spite of everything. 

The presence behind him shifted, and the Tyrant stood tall yet again. Had it all been a ruse? False hope? Just a cruel tease?

But no—Leon still wasn’t dead. 

The thing was waiting. Testing. Offering. 

He knew he shouldn’t make any sudden movements just in case, so he carefully shifted his arms and stood up taller on his knees, reaching for the long, wooden table in front of him. 

Leon gripped his hands onto the edge of it, steadying himself on his legs. The typewriter atop it shook, metal clinks filling the tense quiet in the air. He picked himself up, vaguely aware of his ass brushing against X’s thigh for the briefest of moments, and took a shallow inhale. 

Maybe, in hindsight, he was lucky he’d been chased in here by the Tyrant and not one of those deformed, clawed _creatures_ that crawled all over the walls and ceiling. This circumstance (however strange and unexpected) was much more preferable to a messy death by a brainless beast. 

That heavy, lingering presence drew closer, making the floorboards creak, and Leon felt that same spike of white-hot anticipation course through him. If he thought about it, he’d been feeling arousal the whole time, hadn’t he?

It had always been like a game of cat and mouse, and the tension of that alone had sparked a neediness in Leon. Every time that footfall thumped throughout the halls of RPD, it had shook him to his core—but not entirely in a fearful way. 

He’d just been denying that part for the sake of his duties. Things were easier that way. It was much simpler to be afraid than dwell over your constantly flushed cheeks and the way your dick twitched whenever those pounding footsteps reached a crescendo. 

Leon, though standing up straight, braced one arm on the tabletop as he finally let out a shaky exhale. From behind, X was already close, and gradually pressing against the other’s back. 

Slowly—almost like he was being deliberately sluggish. Taking his time at first, observing the other’s reactions. 

First, the sensation of his thick calves, then the cool heaviness of his thighs, the wideness of his chest, and then... 

...Something pressed between Leon’s round ass cheeks, hard and intimidating. And the slightest bit warm, even when the rest of him was ice cold. 

Leon drew a breath again, feeling his own dick pulse underneath his clothes at the sensation. Now, the Tyrant was fully pressing against him, one giant hand resting at Leon’s trim waist and the other groping his chest, squeezing the light muscle there. 

There was only one thing left to do. Leon let his arm fall below the edge of the table (which was already cutting into his erection) and reached behind for X. His hand felt around—finally finding the slope of his crotch. Thick and hefty with veins he could trace over even through the leather fabric of his attire. 

He gripped it purposefully (what little he could give the size discrepancy between his hand and X’s cock), fondling the long bump up and down. 

Surely that was an obvious enough affirmation, right? A clear-cut answer?

In response, the Tyrant’s thick fingers travelled along Leon’s belt and holster, finding the clasp and undoing it. It was easy, now, for X to tug his underwear and uniform pants down, letting them pool into a clump just below his knees. 

Through the irrational fog that made his head pulse, Leon willed himself to look down—watching the way Mr. X stroked his dick, hard and wet with precum. It made a loose moan slip out of his lips as he threw his head back slightly. Those fingers trailed along his shaft, making him shiver, dick pulsing underneath his touch. 

With some effort, Leon managed to reach behind him for the ties of X’s trench-coat, pulling the ribbon until they parted at his sides limply. Something between a low hum and a growl came from the Tyrant, who ground against Leon’s butt with one smooth thrusting motion. 

That, in turn, made him moan with the appropriate amount of intensity for a sensation he hadn’t been prepared for. 

(Then a few more thrusts, hard erection bouncing against Leon’s ass). 

X wasn’t even inside him yet, and he was already beginning to feel close to bursting just from the humping alone. 

“Woah—!”

As soon as he’d pulled his hand back, Mr. X grabbed him roughly by the hips, scooping him up. Leon, a little shaken, still braced himself on the table, palms splaying as his abdomen laid flat onto it for a moment. 

But only a moment, because the Tyrant lifting him properly upward, gripping Leon by his chest and stomach and pulling him against his front. Holding him there. 

Leon felt another sensation of something settling against his butt and underneath his dick, pushing it up slightly—and making him twitch and shiver. He didn’t even have to look to connect the dots, really. 

With his black trench-coat hanging open, X’s cock stood up fully erect, hardly managing to slide between Leon’s plump ass cheeks. Although he wasn’t soft in the slightest, their precarious positioning meant that his balls brushed against X’s shaft ever-so-slightly. 

It was long and equally as wide, bigger than any human’s cock could be. And it was veiny, too, just like he’d been imagining from the touch. They ran from the base to his tip in a spiral, thick greenish-cobalt veins making blood rush to his peak. The head was a bluish-gray, a little darker than the rest of Mr. X’s periwinkle skin, and quite girthy. 

“J-Jesus...” Thinking about _that_ fitting into him made his head spin, going muddled in arousal. But he gave into the moment, swallowing hard as the ridges of the veins brushed against his warm skin. 

Being held up and steadied like this was an entirely new sensation—and Leon felt bubbly, as if he were drunk. One of X’s muscular arms alone could keep him pressed up and restrained, while the other looped under his leg, spreading him open.

X hunched his back just a little, increasing the pressure between, and making Leon’s breath hitch. That heavy weight crushing into him was unbearable—but in the best way possible. Being so much smaller and weaker meant that Leon was easy to overwhelm like this. The Tyrant’s arm underneath him shifted just a little, so his hand could reach to stroke the other’s dick, back and forth but pressing hard. 

Of course, Leon couldn’t help but throw his head back into X’s chest, chilly and bare against his nape. Rocking them both at a rougher rhythm than before. 

His fingers coiled around it after the teasing pattering of his tips. He pumped in a smooth motion, back and forth, just as hard as the grinding, but at the same beats. Leon’s legs writhed, and he squirmed in pleasure, but every part of him was exposed and held open.

There was nowhere else to hide, and no way to scrunch in on himself. No way to stop the waves of heated ecstasy that came with every swipe of the other’s fingers. 

With the Tyrant’s cock pulsing underneath him (and brushing against the table), it was all...a lot of stimulation at once. But then, that seemed to be Mr. X’s goal in the first place. 

But even so, the Tyrant was still a tease. 

Right as Leon was the most riled up, X dragged his fingers away, and pulled his cock out from underneath. Leon stood on his legs again, which felt like jelly at this point. With his forearms flat on the table, balancing himself, he took a few deep breaths, winding down from his high. 

Although his pre dripped messily onto the floor, he still hadn’t released. He felt all his muscles grow tight, clenching up at the denial—at being so close and then abruptly ripped away. 

From behind, Mr. X first brought his hand to Leon’s neck—not choking, but definitely grasping hard, as if he were trying to yank him closer. His palm slid along the bump of Leon’s Adam’s apple, upward to his chin, locking his jaw in place. Only a few breathy moans could escape through his lips, until X’s hand recoiled back, letting his head snap back down. 

Now, the Tyrant’s hand ran through Leon’s hair, right at the back by his neck. Again, he trailed upward, resting at the curve of his head. 

He readied himself at Leon’s hole, parting his legs and cheeks—and Leon couldn’t shake the anticipatory feeling that the cool precum at the tip gave him. 

“Oh, man...” The murmur was all but inaudible, but at the words Mr. X tugged at his hair. Leon hadn’t been expecting it, but rather than it hurting, it only made his dick ache further. 

This time, the moan he let out was unrestrained, and loud enough to make him self-conscious. 

That embarrassment only lasted a split-second, because X brought his thick tip even closer, pressing in experimentally. 

And although it seemed like an impossible feat, the head squeezed through, burning his hole for some moments—but Leon would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Teeth gritted together, and some more scratchy hums came loose. 

Just the head alone felt like too much, stretching his ass and making it pulsate. But the slight pain had gone away once he’d made his entrance, the rest of his shaft mostly wet and sticky, making the pushing all the more convenient. 

Even without sparing a glance downward, Leon could feel the way his stomach bulged from the added weight of the Tyrant’s cock inside him. Too impossibly big, even with his legs spread as they were, but it had happened. 

And yet, as X thrusted forward with the entire weight of his body, the rush of euphoria proved to overpower the achy hurt. Every time the Tyrant pressed against him, he found himself eagerly awaiting more, with his arms scraping along the wood and rocking the table. 

X still pulled at his hair whenever he’d move his own hips back, and would then force himself forward as he released. 

Leon felt himself close, stuttering out gasps and unable to even find any words—too overcome with stimulation from all ends. His dick must’ve been rosy and rigid by now, cum collecting at the head. 

But though he was close, X finished first inside him, after only a few more powerful grinds of his crotch rubbing against Leon’s ass. 

If he hadn’t already felt full, well—this was an entirely different kind of fullness. The release was like a surge of electricity pumping through him, and he cried out as he felt the cum fill up his hole. 

He was so _tight_ , and that sensation alone was what did him in. X pulled out, his cock hanging and dripping, and that was when Leon squirted out underneath the table in a hot stream, as a simultaneous sigh rang through him. 

Leon dropped, slamming into the tabletop, _hard_. “F-Fuck!” (At the end of his groan, a yelp.)

The typewriter fell with a metallic clang onto the tiled floor, some of the keys and bolts skidding across the far end of the room. Outside, a Licker snarled hungrily at the loud noise, creeping close to the darkroom’s door and then latching onto the ceiling outside when it found nothing. 

Leon only winced for a split-second at that sickening sound, attempting to focus himself—which was quite a task indeed. His breaths came out erratically at first, until they slowed.

His back was sore and standing like this on his own made the pain seeping into his muscles all the more obvious. Even his butt was sort of searing in some places and numb in other spots, still dripping sticky, thick cum along the insides of his thighs. 

Behind him, Mr. X tied the straps of his trench-coat back around his body—that much Leon could tell from the sounds of the shifting fabric. 

He took his slow steps toward the edge of the darkroom, back where he’d came. 

And as X opened the door (Leon fumbling with fastening his pants and fixing his mussed hair), he lingered in the doorframe. Leon hadn’t realized it until he noticed the squeak of it opening but not clicking shut again. 

Finally, he allowed himself to turn his head over his shoulder, still panting lowly under his breath, only to see Mr. X adjusting his fedora—and then giving him a nod and small, barely-there half-smirk as he left into the hallway. 

The door closed, not with finality, but instead with the promise of another rendezvous. 

(Was it bad, then, that even after being thoroughly exhausted the implication alone made Leon’s dick prickle with heat still, and his ass cheeks clench up?)

...What had he been trying to do in this darkroom again?

Oh right, he had still that roll of film to develop—he ought to keep his mind occupied with that.

**Author's Note:**

> [buy me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/mochacreams) if you enjoy my work and would like to tip~


End file.
